Curious Incidents of the Attorney in the Night-Time
by organanation
Summary: "Whoever taught you to play hunches was an excellent teacher," Perry told her. "And whoever taught you to go to bed on time was terrible," Della scolded. A short collection of the changing relationship between Perry and Della and sleep.
1. 1950

_AN: Thanks eversomuch to the usual suspects for their discerning eyes!_

Della set a hand gently on Perry's shoulder and leaned over the back of his chair. She slipped a scrap of paper into the book where he had it open on the desk and closed the large volume.

"I was reading that," he murmured.

"Yes, you _were_. Twenty minutes ago you were, and ever since then, you've been staring into space," she replied quietly, tucking the yellow pad into his top desk drawer. She also removed the fountain pen from his hand and screwed the cap on tight, setting the instrument in the holder at the far edge of the desk.

"I take it we're going home now?"

"We should have gone home hours ago," she responded. He moved like he'd been drugged.

Della had their coats by the time he was out of his chair. He tossed his over his arm and helped Della slip hers on. They were quiet on the ride down the elevator.

Della glanced left and right in her nightly half-hearted search for a cab.

"Any cabs to be had right now are dubious at best," Perry cautioned. "Come on, I'll drive you home."

It wasn't an uncommon scenario, and every time Della heard murmurings of what happened to women during the darkest hours of the night, she was more than willing to overlook the impropriety of spending those dark hours alone with Perry Mason.

He took her arm as they turned into the parking garage below the building. The silence was comfortable as Perry drove toward her apartment building.

It was only a short drive, and it passed quickly.

"Walk you up?" he asked. She nodded, as she did every late night like this. He eased the car into an empty space along the front of the building and extended a hand to help her out after him.

"Goodnight," he murmured quietly as she keyed herself into the building.

"Get some sleep," she insisted, turning around to face him before she closed the door behind her.

"Mhm," he answered noncommittally.

"Perry," she said with a bit more force. "Get some sleep."

He smiled and looked into her eyes. "Yes, Della."


	2. 1953

Perry insisted she go home and enjoy the lovely weather. He promised he only had another half-hour of work, an hour at most. Della listened, _this_ time, the warm drops of sun falling through the window playing a pied piper's tune as she'd gathered her things and demanded he also leave on time to catch some of the evening sunlight.

Part of her wanted to insist he drop by later for dinner and a glass of wine. He'd finish up in just enough time for her to make something artful and seemingly effortless, a dish like they'd order at one of the restaurants Perry brought her to.

Not, of course, that she had to impress him.

Her plans had been dashed, however, when, after a long day, she sat on the couch for a few moments of rest before calling Perry. She'd kicked off her tight shoes and luxuriated in the warm breeze blowing in through the open balcony doors. When Della next opened her eyes, nearly two hours had passed.

Instead of a grand meal, she had canned soup and a piece of fruit. After eating, she washed up the sink of dishes and took a relaxing bath before going to bed early.

Something pricked her awake early in the night, somewhere around 10 o'clock. It wasn't a bad feeling per se, like something bad was happening, but definitely felt like something was off.

Perhaps it was simply her body not being used to being in bed so early. The long nap on the couch could also be playing into the restlessness.

But no matter how much she tried to dismiss it, she couldn't shake the feeling.

It had to do with Perry, Della was certain. How she knew, she wasn't sure, but she did nonetheless.

She picked up the telephone and asked to be put through to Perry's apartment. It rang and rang until the operator came back on the line.

"It appears no one is home, Miss," the operator stated.

"Yes, it appears," Della replied. She hung up and dialed the number of the unlisted phone on his desk. It rang four times before the line clicked live and her boss's sleepy voice came across the wire.

"Hello?"

"Thirty minutes? An hour at most?" she asked. Perry chuckled.

"You caught me," he admitted. "But you are still up, too," he rebutted.

"I was heading to bed and played a hunch," she lied, not wanting to admit she had a sixth sense that was somehow tied to his well-being.

"Whoever taught you to play hunches was an excellent teacher."

"And whoever taught you to go to bed on time was terrible."

"I was just getting ready to leave," he promised.

"I think I've heard that already today," she teased.

"This time, I'm telling the truth."

"Call me when you get home," she insisted, "so I know how much coffee to make in the morning."

"I disturb you all day. Are you sure you want me disturbing you all night, too?" he asked.

"I don't mind," she promised.

"I'll call."

Della was just dozing off when the telephone rang again.

"I'm home," he announced when she picked up the receiver.

"Good. Now get some sleep and I'll see you fresh and ready in the morning," Della replied.

"Yes, boss," he teased. "Goodnight, Della."

"Chief," she said quickly, hoping to catch him before he hung up.

"Yes?"

"Would you like to come for dinner tomorrow night?"

"I'd love to."


	3. 1956

Blizzards in the Rockies had delayed his flight back to LA. After 8 days on the East Coast for a conference, the extended layover was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

He stumbled sleepily down the hall of his apartment building, fitting the key into the latch.

A pleasant surprise greeted him: His personal mail set neatly on the coffee table, sorted the way she sorted the office mail, a dim light on over the kitchenette, her coat and shoes tucked into the closet.

Though he'd given her keys to his apartment long ago, their newly kindled romantic relationship had finally given her the confidence to use them.

After divesting himself of his wool coat, leather shoes, and heavy baggage, he followed the thin beam of light falling from the doorway of the spare room he used as a study.

Loosening his tie and undoing the top collar button, he gently whispered her name, assuming she was likely asleep at this hour but unable to resist calling for her.

She was sitting in his large leather desk chair, feet drawn up beneath her with the gauzy white film of her nightgown covering her legs. Her head rested against the back of the chair and her dark lashes were against her cheeks in quiet repose.

He'd obviously taken far longer to arrive than she'd anticipated.

Still, her presence gave him that odd feeling in his chest that was becoming more and more common-love, he supposed. Pure, unadulterated, _perfect_ love.

Perry leaned against the desk, admiring her for a moment as she slept. Her skin glowed rosy in the light of his desk lamp. He smiled in spite of himself-the rosy glow of her skin was the same rosy feeling she caused to bubble up in his chest. Reaching out his hand, he gently brushed a finger over her cheek.

Her eyes drifted open and a sleepy smile spread across her face.

"Hi," Della murmured, drawing in a deep, refreshing breath.

"Hello, darling." It was a new moniker, but one that fit her so perfectly and rolled off his tongue as easily as her given name.

"Good conference?"

"Informative," he replied, too mesmerized by the jewels that were her eyes to go into any further detail. "Ready for bed?" he asked. Della nodded and extracted herself from the chair.

Rocking on unsteady feet, she reached out to him for stability, and he happily gathered her into his embrace.

"Welcome home," Della murmured, twisting one ankle at a time to bring the blood flow back to her feet.

Ah, what a welcome it was.


	4. 1974

Della rolled over, feeling for Perry's hand. In their younger years, they'd slept as a tangled mass of limbs. Now, their physical affection was less demonstrative.

But she didn't find his hand or any other part of him.

The bedroom door was still open and she could see a few fingers of light stretching down the hall, undoubtedly from his office.

She couldn't hear anything, which meant he was either engrossed in his reading or had fallen asleep. More likely the latter than the former. Sighing, she tossed back the sheets and pushed her feet into her slippers before shuffling down the hall.

As she had expected, Perry was asleep in his large leather chair, a book open on his desk and his head leaned against the winged back. She reached forward to gently touch his hand, but paused an inch away. He would put on a brave and stubborn attitude and insist he continue working. She'd have to think of some reason he _had_ to come back to bed.

A nightmare.

After puffing in a few heavy breaths, she reached for his hand again.

"Mmph-hmm? Darling? What's the matter?" he murmured, sitting up.

"I...I had a nightmare," she lied. Despite being sleep-addled, he reached for her hand.

"You're awake now, Darling," he murmured, standing up beside her and pulling her against him. "What happened?"

Della scrambled through her brain for something and grabbed the first thought she had. "You...you were working on a case. Something with the mob, I guess, because they put out a contract on you."

It wasn't too far out of the realm of possibility. They'd both been shot at over the years with varying degrees of success. She had a purse with a bullethole in it, and Perry had a scar on the back of his shoulder where one of the more successful shots had hit.

"Darling," he murmured, rubbing her back.

"I didn't get there in time," she whispered, feeling real tears spill over her nightmare itself may have been a lie, but the premise beside it wasn't far out of the realm of possibility. To think of having him taken away so suddenly…

"Shh, shh," he murmured. "Come on, Darling, let's go back to bed." With an arm still around her, he led her down the hall.

He tucked them both in bed and pulled her up to his side.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"No. Please don't go back to your desk."

"I'll be right here, Darling," he promised.

It wasn't hard for her to drift back toward sleep. Perry, too, started to fall asleep. She felt his chest rising and falling slowly beneath her cheek. It had been a long time since they'd lain this close, sharing space and heat and breath.

They _were_ getting older, no doubt about that. But lying with her head on his shoulder and his hands warm against her skin...that transcended time or age. This love…it was ageless.


	5. 1983

With a heavy sigh, Ken shoved the folders and papers away from him. He pushed his chair back from the table and went to the coat rack for his jacket.

"Ken," Amy began.

"I just need some fresh coffee and some air. I'll be back soon," he promised, waving off his fiance and closing the office door with more force than strictly necessary.

Della shifted the papers around on the table as Amy reigned in her temper.

"I just... _wish_ he'd let me help," Amy said through gritted teeth, trying and failing to hide her frustration. "I'm supposed to be his...well, I'm supposed to be his _you_," she admitted weakly to Della.

Della chuckled, setting aside the paperwork. "Sit down, honey. You have to understand that when they get like this, you can't take it personally. Cases like this that are short on answers and long on deceit...it grates on him. He gets so caught up in it all that he forgets you're on _his _side."

Perry smartly made himself scarce.

"Sometimes, you have to remind him that you _are _on his side. And other times, you just have to make sure he's sleeping a few hours a night and hunker down til the trial wraps up. You know what he's _really _like," Della reminded her.

Amy didn't miss the loving glance that Della gave toward Perry's mostly-closed office door.

"Ken hasn't been sleeping," Amy mused. "Not-not that I know first-hand," she added quickly.

"We never do, do we?" Della said with a smirk and a twist of her wedding ring. "Of course, the most _obvious_ way to get a man into bed doesn't usually work in this situation," she trailed off, adjusting her sweater. "You have to be a little more crafty. Go to bed, and an hour later, tell him about the terrible nightmare you've just had and how you'll never sleep again."

Amy looked at the older woman with renewed respect.

"You're craftier than you look," she said in a hushed tone, shooting a furtive glance at Perry's door.

"Then, of course, there's making half-decaf coffee. You have to be careful with that one, but it's a decent trick now and then when he gets jittery." Amy was as rapt as a sinner in church.

Della leaned in and lowered her voice so Perry, even with the hearing of a young man, couldn't hear. "And my personal favorite-asking him to be a sweetheart and rub the sore spot in your shoulders just for a moment. Of course,the best way for him to get at those muscles with any finesse is to sit on his lap. And then, if you should happen to nod off, he's stuck there."

Both women jumped as the door banged open as Ken returned. Perry came back in from his office.

"I thought you were going after some coffee," Amy said tentatively.

"It's closed," he mumbled. Della glanced at the clock on the desk-it was nearly 10 pm.

"Go home and get some sleep, _both_ of you," Perry said with a warm firmness.

"Yessir," Ken murmured. Amy pulled her coat on quickly and tucked herself against Ken's side. As the door closed gently behind them, Perry came up beside Della and put his arm around her shoulders.

"Have you ever done any of those things to me?" he asked.

"Of course not, Lover," Della soothed, patting Perry's chest. "Besides, these days, we're in bed by 10:30," she teased.

"Then we'd best get home," he said, pointing at the clock. "We haven't much time, Cinderella."


	6. 1990

The alarm set itself off at 5:30. Della clicked it off and slid out of bed quietly, following the routine she'd had for decades.

She used the bathroom down the hall in the mornings. There was more counter space, and even though Perry said she was just imagining things, she thought the water came out hotter. It also kept the bedroom quieter so Perry could enjoy his last 45 minutes of sleep.

After a shower and a few minutes with the blow dryer, she went down to the kitchen to start the coffee. Perry had never been a morning person, but now that they were both creeping up on three-quarters of a century, he'd become nothing short of a _bear_. She could say it-she'd married him.

Black coffee, steaming in a large mug, she carried up the stairs. It was after six now, and on her way over to wake Perry, she pulled the cord that opened the curtains. He groaned as the morning light streamed in through the easterly window.

"Good morning, yourself," she retorted.

"What time is it?" he asked, not rolling over.

"Ten after six," she replied. "Same time I come in every morning."

"Della," he grumbled, shifting under the covers.

"Arguing with me is not going to change the fact that it's getting close to quarter after," she retorted, setting the coffee down on his nightstand and going to her bureau.

"Della," he repeated.

"Perry Mason, I swear, it's a good thing we never had children because _you_ are enough of a handful all on your own." Della came back around to his side of the bed. She leaned over to start pulling at covers.

"Della!" Perry exclaimed, grabbing her wrists before she could start stealing any of his blankets. With a mighty yank, he pulled her onto him and executed what could only be likened to an alligator's death roll as he tried to bury her in the bedcovers. "It's Saturday!"


End file.
